Empty Spaces
by eliska
Summary: Kenny muses on what he really is. Oneshot. Genfic. Rated for language.


A/N: I'm high on plot bunnies, seriously.

Dear reader, be warned. You might hate it completely or be confused by the whole iffy theme. I won't blame you if you do. It's just something I had to throw out because it was bothering me so much. And because English class fucked my mind a little too much.

To sum it up: Plot-less musing, genfic.

DISCLAIMER: See profile please.

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Life works out for people at the end. Usually.

But sometimes you just wonder—how soon would that be?

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Some people thing I'm the biggest pervert in the universe. Most just think I'm a whore. Truth is, there's a big distinction between those two phrases that nobody ever seems to notice anymore. I don't really care what they call me now, I never did; in a way, I was both… and neither.

I've fucked enough people to last me two lifetimes, most of them being nameless faces that I will never see again—people I can throw out the window right afterwards without feeling anything close to remorse. I didn't care. The people once close to me—Stan, Kyle, those guys—Hell, I never touched them when in my consciousness. I was afraid, of what, I can't rightly explain. Maybe it was because of what I've always felt after fucking some random passerby—emptiness. I got nothing out of whoring except the sex itself, which did nothing, absolutely nothing, to compensate for what I really wanted. Or was the nothingness what I wanted after all?

It wasn't about the money; it had _never been_ about something as trivial as the money. I'd been poor ever since I was born and stayed that way through the years. No, it was about self-fulfillment, a wish of some sort that I'd wanted to accomplish without really knowing what it was. I wanted to _be_. Except that I wasn't, and with every subsequent screw; every boring, monotonous day, I felt less and less.

Like I didn't exist at all.

Of course, that is impossible, I was—I am real. Tangible. I'm not trying to be angsty over this… it's something that just _is_. No explanations needed. At least that's what most people think.

What I'm trying to say is, there's no point in this whole mess. I know it, but I still go on with this life, only because I know no other. Only because the pointlessness seems to be more real, in some bizarre sort of way.

It gets to me occasionally, I guess, and opens up what I call the Empty Space that's living inside me. No, it's not some emotard term I made up; it's something that everyone has. Absolutely. It's where everything we are confused about goes, a dream that nobody can decipher, a field of innocence. We may see the world through different eyes, but it will never be just black and white. The gray areas between those lines, the fuzzy spaces, are the ones that matter the most, at least to me. I've always been the one to be here on and off, dying spasmodically and coming back at the most random times possible. It does give a certain feel of familiarity of these concepts to me. Death is certain, plausible, and almost impartial. I'm the exception, of course, thus reinforcing these ideas I'd laid down for myself over the years.

What do I want, actually? Yes, as I've said before, I want to _be_… but what exactly is that? I exist, I think, I walk, I talk, I do any other thing that any normal person could and would do, except that I keep dying. But is that really being, is that really me? Does what I am inside really equate to what I am on the outside, does it show what I really want?

I need to forget, I need to stop worrying. There can be nothing inside of me that can hurt me, and besides I just can't seem to die off for good no matter how much people try. Figures.

Tomorrow will be a better day, yesterday is gone. I need to fill up the Empty Spaces inside again, only because I just got another epiphany. What comes around goes around, and pretty soon I guess there will be more problems coming over this way for me to mull over. It's boring, but once everyone you've ever known is gone, once life stops going on and turns into one huge endless cycle, you can't really feel shit anymore. What now happens is to keep the mind occupied in randomness and dilemmas, or your sanity will disappear.

Besides, I've got all the time in the world.

End.

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…Review?


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